


Into The Deep

by Severina



Category: Dark Harbor (1998)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy is temptation made flesh, and David is only human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt, "demands".
> 
> * * *

David is deep into a paragraph on patent law as it applied in the Rowanwood v. Millgrove case when he hears the first splash in the pool. He looks up from his volume, cocks his head, and listens closely; hears nothing but birdsong and the distant rumble of a lawn mower. He is about to concede that it is likely just the wind blowing some odd scrap into the water when he hears the second splash.

It sounds louder. More deliberate.

Like the sound of a filthy soccer ball being kicked into his yard to land in his pristine pool.

He takes off his glasses, places them carefully on the desk before rising from his chair. 

He fully intends to give the neighbourhood brats a piece of his mind this time, never mind Alexis's constant harping that they need to stay on good terms with the Martins. It's only unfortunate that a stern lecture on the practice of keeping their sporting equipment on their own side of the fence is all that he can give them. What the monsters need is a swift kick in the ass.

The screen door squeaks as he eases it open, his mouth already open to deliver a scathing lecture to the damn Martin boys. The words die in his throat when he looks out into the yard.

As always, the sight of the young man takes his breath away.

He hesitates in the patio doorway, his fingers clutching reflexively at the sliding door. For several heartbeats he can only stand, transfixed, staring at the boy's long, tousled hair, the broad lightly-freckled shoulders tapering to those slim hips. He hadn't wanted to hire a pool maintenance company, had insisted that he could handle it himself. But Alexis had be adamant, and when David had met the boy the company sent to clean filters and check algae levels he had known that he should have fought Alexis harder, been more persistent.

The boy is temptation made flesh, and David is only human.

He swallows dryly. Only when he's sure that he can speak without sounding like a love-struck schoolboy does he step out into the sunlight. 

"What are you doing here?" he calls out. 

The young man looks up, startled for a moment, before squinting at him across the pool. He lifts the hand that's not holding a bright orange pool noodle in a wave, one that only falters and dies when David does little more than scowl at him. But that doesn't stop the boy from giving him that open, easy smile that makes David's chest ache. He vaguely remembers smiling like that, back when he thought life was easy, back when he still believed it would be possible to live a lie without becoming bitter and jaded.

The young man kicks his feet in the water, sending out another of those purposeful splashes that had sent David out to the back yard in the first place. "Hey!" he yells back. 

"'Hey' does not answer my question," David says. 

"Guess not," the boy says. He flips the noodle into the pool, watches as it drifts away on the slight summer breeze before getting lightly to his feet. David remembers being able to do that too, before creaking knees and grey hair took over his life. Any further rumination on the hazards of hitting his forties leave his mind when the boy takes a few steps onto the deck, water slipping slowly down his firm calves to pool onto the wooden beams. When he stops and stretches David can see every fine muscle ripple and pull under his pale, smooth skin. He wants to touch that flesh, run his hands over those shoulders and lave kisses down that spine. 

He blinks, realizes he's been staring only when he sees the boy looking at him speculatively, just a hint of amusement dancing on his face. He wonders abruptly if the stretch was deliberate, a tease. If the boy _knows_. The thought galvanizes him, sends him down the steps and onto the sun-warmed boards. Whatever was he thinking, hovering in the doorway like an intimidated child? This is his home; the young man is his employee. There are rules and he will enforce them.

"Once again, why are you here? You're scheduled to work on Saturdays. Today," he clips out, "is Thursday." 

"Yeah," the boys says, "but on Saturdays you always seem kind of anxious, you know? I figure it's 'cause your wife's got that book club meeting and you're never sure if it's going to end early and she's going to show up when you least expect her. But Thursdays?" The boy cocks his head, takes another slow step toward him. "Thursdays is her volunteer day and that's all the way on the other side of town, and you always work from home, so…"

"You've been stalking us."

"I wouldn't call it stalking," the boy says. "I just wanted to know what my options are."

"Options," David repeats.

The boy lifts one broad shoulder, ducks his head and looks at him through his bangs. The effect is entirely intoxicating, and David is suddenly sure that the boy knows it. 

"Thought I might get lucky."

Somehow the young man has managed to make it across the deck, to invade his personal space while he stands breathless and hypnotized. David finds his resolve fading quickly, and it is all David can do to squeak out, "Did you, indeed?"

"Yeah," the boy breathes. 

David hesitates. Nothing definitive has been said. It is entirely possible that he's merely projecting his own desires onto the boy. The young man has always been talkative, friendly, even when David has done all he could to shut it down. But it doesn't mean that the boy wants what he wants, feels what he feels.

Then the young man cups his dick through his chinos and all doubt promptly flies out the window.

"I don't think that's part of our service contract," David says wryly.

"No worries," the boy says. "My prick of a boss fired me five days ago."

The boy licks his lips, and the wanton display makes David's dick give an interested twitch. There's life in the old boy yet. But he darts a nervous glance at the security fence, listens for the sound of the Martin brats. Nothing but birdsong… and the slow slide of his zipper being lowered. His mouth is suddenly dry, and what he intends to be an imperious query comes out as little more than a rasping croak. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Well," the boy says, glancing up at him again through his over-long bangs, "right now I'm taking out your cock. In a second I'm gonna start stroking it. And then," he continues matter-of-factly, "I'm going to put it in my mouth and suck you off until your toes curl and you don't know your own name."

He follows up the words with the deeds. It only takes a few quick strokes for David to be ready, and then the boy is on his knees. David rests a hand tentatively on the young man's head, clenches his other fist at his side at the first touch of the boy's mouth. He's dreamed of this moment – literally dreamed this scenario, after many a Saturday spent watching the boy lazily cruise around the pool, skimming the water and diving below the surface to check the filters. In his dreams the boy was shy and hesitant, not this brazen wanton thing who licks and sucks with such abandon. In his dreams he coaxed the boy with assured touches, guiding him where he wished, drawing out his pleasure. 

The reality is crude and quick, with David's fingers tugging at the boy's hair and the boy's hands alternately squeezing his ass and cupping his balls and his orgasm taking him suddenly out of nowhere, leaving him weak-kneed and gasping for air. 

It's only when he feels the boy's fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt that he realizes the young man has risen, that he's stood panting and weaving on his feet for so long as to be almost embarrassing. He clears his throat and lifts the boy's hands away, but still fears that his own trembling fingers betray him. At least his voice, when he speaks, isn't quivering like a blushing virgin on his wedding night.

"Quite satisfactory," David says. "If you still worked for me, I'd give you a generous tip."

"After that?" the boy says cockily. "I think I deserve a night on the town. After all, I already put out."

It's a foolish idea. He's a married man, a distinguished attorney with a wealthy client base. He simply cannot afford a scandal, which is exactly why he keeps his… indiscretions fleeting and anonymous, and usually out of town. He cannot see this boy again.

Then the boy steps back and adjusts his own heavy cock in his swim shorts, and all rational thought flies out the window.

He does a quick calculation. He's been particularly solicitous with Alexis lately, ever since his last rendezvous went sour months ago. The trade in Lewiston had been, perhaps, just a little too rough for his liking. She likely won't suspect anything now, and he already has the deposition with Ramsden scheduled for five on Tuesday. He can tell her it ran late – they often do, when McMichaels is doing the arrangements – then inform her that he's meeting with a new client afterward. Yes, she won't even bat an eye. Decision made, he nods. "Tuesday. Drinks at Maxwell's. Nine o'clock."

The boy cocks his head. "Did I mention that I lost my job? I've been living on ramen for days."

David raises a brow. "Fine. Seven o'clock, then. Will a steakhouse suffice or should I take out a second mortgage for some lobster bisque and a caviar chaser?"

"Steak's fine," the boy says with a grin. 

He wants to kiss the boy. To taste himself on the boy's tongue. To make the boy whimper as he did, so shamelessly. But instead he stands still and silent as the boy gathers up his things and walks to the gate, watches him until the boy looks over his shoulder and eyes him up and down slowly before stepping out of the yard, and only then realizes that his mouth is hanging open and his pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird. 

He clears his throat again, comes back to himself with an effort and feels nothing like the skilled lawyer and master manipulator of the courtroom. Now, he is only a middle-aged man with a slight paunch and a limp dick still dangling from an open zipper. 

And he already knows that he will be a fool for this boy.


End file.
